Double Cross

  Milady finally lowered her sword from Greg’s neck. “Right now,” she said reassuringly.

  “And you’ll tell the king that they are no threat to him and neither am I?”

  “Of course.” Milady leaned so close to Greg, he could feel her breath on him. “And then, you and I will go find the other half of this stone.”

  Greg felt himself being enticed again. Don’t trust her, he had to remind himself. Just play along until you figure out what to do. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

  Milady pulled away from him, smiling. “You’ve made a very good decision,” she said.

  There suddenly came the sounds of a scuffle on the other side of the door, followed by several startled cries. Milady quickly threw open the door—only to find Michel Dinicoeur waiting on the other side.

  TWELVE

  CONDÉ AND HIS MEN WERE SPRAWLED ON THE ATTIC FLOOR behind Dinicoeur, out cold. They’d been taken by surprise so quickly they hadn’t even put up a fight. Greg’s parents and Catherine were still conscious, cowering in a corner. Dominic Richelieu held them at sword point. Either he was unaware that Dinicoeur had made a last-ditch attempt to kill Stefan, or he’d gotten over it.

  For a moment, Greg thought that Dinicoeur and Milady might have teamed up against him, but then Milady screamed in horror, and Greg realized she wasn’t faking. Dinicoeur had caught her by surprise as well. She hadn’t expected that he’d find her here—and she obviously hadn’t seen what had happened to him since the Pont du Gard.

  She tried to raise her sword against him, but he shoved her backward into Greg, and both of them fell to the floor. The phone clattered to the ground. The amulet flew from Milady’s hand and Dinicoeur caught it in midair. “You really think I didn’t know about your little hideout here?” he snarled at Milady, dangling the amulet tauntingly. “This is the price you pay for foolishness.” With that, he pulled another grenade from the satchel that hung around his neck, touched the wick to one of the lamps in the room, and tossed it at Greg before fleeing with Richelieu.

  The grenade bounded across the floor and plunked into Greg’s lap. Greg glanced at the wick. It was almost burnt out already. There might have been time for him to run, but his parents and Catherine were too far from the door. They’d be blown to bits.

  There were only a few seconds to act. Greg snatched the grenade, leaped onto the table in the center of the room, then slam-dunked the bomb through one of the ceiling vents. It tumbled down the edge of the roof and exploded outside. The room shook violently from the blast, and centuries’ worth of dust dislodged from the ceiling, but no one was hurt.

  Catherine quickly grabbed Condé’s sword and started toward one of the doors. “They went this way!” she told Greg. “We can still catch up to them.”

  “Let me go after them,” Greg told her, grabbing his phone and stuffing it into the folds of his clothes. “Tie up Milady and Condé and their men and then get my parents to Notre Dame. I’ll meet up with all of you there.” Before Catherine or his parents could protest, he raced out of the room.

  It felt wonderful to have his phone back, but it wouldn’t do him any good if Dinicoeur had the Devil’s Stone. Even though he was outnumbered and worn out, he had no choice but to go after them.

  The door his enemies had fled through led to another narrow staircase, which in turn took Greg upward to a trapdoor in the ceiling. He scrambled through it and suddenly found himself on the roof of the palace. The Louvre varied greatly in height from place to place, so the roof had many levels, and Greg now found himself at its highest point. In fact, save for the bell towers of Notre Dame, he was at the highest point in all of Paris, a small flat area atop a dramatic peak of the roof, ten stories above the main entrance to the castle. Nearby, the roof slanted downward steeply toward a much larger stretch that covered the northern wing of the Louvre. From where he stood, Greg could see down into the courtyard, which served as a training ground for the military. Much of the palace below was lined by several stories of scaffolding, as the building was still under construction. Lots of workmen and a dozen members of the king’s guard were staring up toward him. The explosion of the grenade had probably drawn their attention, but now he, Dinicoeur, and Richelieu had it.

  Dinicoeur and Richelieu had disappeared over the edge of the roof. Greg found them scurrying down a ladder built into the steep incline toward the northern wing. Rather than take the time to climb down the ladder, he simply leaped onto the steep slope and slid down it. He rocketed over the smooth slate tiles and hit the lower roof just behind his enemies.

  Greg was still eight stories above the ground. A narrow, level walkway ran straight down the middle of the roof, but from there, each side slanted precariously toward a stone railing studded with massive statues of gods and cherubs.

  “Hold him off!” Dinicoeur ordered, and Richelieu withdrew his sword, blocking the narrow walkway, while his older self scurried off with the amulet.

  Greg held up his sword as well and fended off the attack. “How can you still trust him?” he asked Richelieu. “He tried to kill your son!”

  “And he stopped when I told him not to,” Richelieu replied. “He was trying to do what was best for us. He and I are the same, after all.”

  “No,” Greg said. “You’re not the same. He’s too obsessed with revenge to think about what’s best for you anymore.”

  “That’s not true!” Richelieu shouted, and charged Greg again.

  “Really?” Greg asked, parrying. “He left a grenade in Teresa’s house after you two fled. Even after you told him not to, he still tried to kill your son.”

  Richelieu paused, and in that moment Greg saw that he’d guessed right: Although Richelieu and Dinicoeur had the same body, they were not exactly the same man anymore. Richelieu’s mind hadn’t been warped by centuries of anger and plotting revenge. Not yet. He wasn’t a good man, but at least he seemed capable of reason. And yet he still couldn’t bring himself to believe that Greg’s words were true. “No,” he said.

  “You heard the explosion, didn’t you?” Greg asked.

  “That was one of Condé’s cannons firing at the city.”

  Greg shook his head. “No, it wasn’t,” he said simply.

  “He would never betray me like that!” Richelieu’s eyes filled with anger. Perhaps it was at Dinicoeur, but he directed it toward Greg, attacking again.

  Behind Richelieu, Greg could see Dinicoeur getting away. He was carefully picking his way down the roof to a place where the scaffolding was highest. His good hand clutched the amulet, the Devil’s Stone gleaming darkly in the light of the setting sun. If Dinicoeur got away with it now, Greg doubted he’d ever get it back.

  “He did betray you,” Greg told Richelieu. “And you know it. He’s insane. He’s so determined to have his revenge on me and the Musketeers that he’s willing to kill his own son. Your son.”

  “No!” Richelieu yelled again. He charged, full of fury, slashing his sword.

  Greg sidestepped him on the narrow walkway, letting Richelieu’s momentum carry him past, then raced after Dinicoeur. Richelieu recovered and took up the chase.

  Suddenly, an arrow whistled past Greg’s ear.

  Down in the courtyard, the king’s guard had recognized him. Now they were opening fire as well—as though he were the enemy here.

  Great, Greg thought. As if I didn’t have enough going on right now.

  He reached the point where Dinicoeur had gone down the roof. There was no time for caution; Greg simply ran down the slant. Another arrow came flying toward him. He dodged it, but stumbled and picked up too much momentum on the slope. He flew down the incline and slammed into the railing so hard that he pitched over it. His legs flipped over his head and for one dizzying moment, he fell.

  And then he slammed into the scaffolding. He landed flat on his back on the wooden planks. He’d only dropped ten feet, but it was enough to knock the wind out of him. He sat up, his ears ringing, and saw Dinicoeur r
acing down the scaffold not far ahead. Greg might have taken a bad fall—but he’d gained a lot of ground.

  He’d also lost his sword, however. He spotted it teetering on the edge of a plank, but as he lunged for it, it fell and tumbled into the courtyard.

  It landed at the feet of the soldiers, who loaded a new round of arrows into their bows.

  Greg looked around desperately for a new plan. There was a pallet full of masonry—huge pieces of limestone for the facade of the palace—dangling from a winch nearby. A chunk of wood had been wedged into the pulley to keep it from moving. Greg snatched up a piece of lumber the size of a baseball bat and smacked the chunk as hard as he could. It popped loose, releasing the pallet, which plummeted downward.

  The soldiers scattered as it crashed into the ground where they’d just been standing. A thick cloud of limestone dust billowed into the air, creating a smoke screen for Greg to escape. He charged after Dinicoeur.

  The scaffolding shook as Richelieu dropped onto it behind Greg.

  Dinicoeur tried to flee into the palace. He heaved a piece of masonry through a window and started to climb inside, but Greg caught up to him before he could. Greg lowered his shoulder and slammed into Dinicoeur with all his might, and the two of them cartwheeled along the scaffold. The amulet tumbled free and bounded over the edge.

  Greg dove and, at the last moment, caught the final link of the silver chain.

  Then he scrambled away just as Dinicoeur lunged for him. He almost made it, but Dinicoeur snagged his heel and latched on like a pit bull. “Give me the stone!” he roared.

  Greg looked into the disgusting mask of burnt flesh. At this range, he could smell Dinicoeur as well. The man had a nauseating stench, like meat that had gone bad.

  Behind him on the scaffolding, Richelieu was bearing down, his sword aimed right for Greg’s chest.

  Greg spotted a rope that dangled down the scaffolding, attached to a winch high above. He grabbed onto it and, with his free leg, booted Dinicoeur in the mouth. Dinicoeur howled in pain, releasing his grip on Greg’s leg.

  Greg leaped off the scaffold just as Richelieu slashed at him. He felt the wind as the sword sliced the air beside him. He swung out on the rope, away from the scaffold and his enemies—and straight toward a huge window. There was no way Greg could alter his course. All he could do was brace for impact. He smashed through the glass, sailed into the palace, and rolled across the floor.

  A chorus of screams greeted his arrival.

  Greg looked up to find he’d landed in the laundry room, with a dozen laundresses staring at him.

  “Sorry for the intrusion,” Greg told them, and ran for the door.

  Out the window behind him, he could hear Dinicoeur far away on the scaffolding, bellowing with rage. “That stone won’t be yours for long!” he roared. “I’ll find you again long before you ever find the other half!”

  Greg didn’t even look back. He just ran on through the palace, determined to quickly get as far away as he could.

  He hung the amulet around his neck as he ran, but still kept his hand clenched around the stone. He couldn’t believe he actually had it again—as well as his phone—but he was all too aware how quickly this prize had slipped through his fingers before. He wasn’t familiar with all the secret passages like Catherine, but he did know some less traveled ways through the palace after the months he’d lived there. He moved quickly through rarely used rooms and down forgotten staircases, finally reaching an unguarded door.

  He stepped out into the streets of Paris. To the west, he could see the summer sun sinking behind the city wall. That made it around nine o’clock at night. Greg felt as though he’d been moving constantly for almost eighteen hours. He’d never been so exhausted in his life. And yet there was still much more he had to do. Although every part of his body ached with fatigue, he quickly started through the alleys toward Notre Dame.

  He hadn’t gotten more than a few steps when several men suddenly stepped from the shadows, surrounding him. “D’Artagnan! Stop!” one ordered.

  Greg whirled around. The men were coming at him from all sides. He could see their uniforms now—the king’s guard. There were too many of them to outrun, and even if he had been talented enough to fight them all, he had no weapon. He slipped the amulet into his shirt and raised his hands in defeat.

  The guard directly ahead of him broke into laughter. Then he stepped into the light of the setting sun, revealing his face.

  Athos.

  THIRTEEN

  “YOU DON’T HAVE TO WORRY,” ATHOS TOLD GREG. HE pointed to a young man who wore the uniform of a captain. “This is Henri, another good friend from my days in the guard. You can trust him.”

  Henri bowed formally. “I understand your concern around us, however. Some of my fellow guardsmen do not realize that the king has been”—Henri paused to choose his words carefully—“compromised lately.”

  “About a dozen of them just tried to kill me,” Greg said.

  “Then we’d best get as far away from the palace as possible,” Henri said. “They are most likely still looking for you. While my own men are loyal to me, the others will remain loyal to the king.” With that, he led the way into the alleys of Paris.

  “I had my own encounter with the king’s guard,” Athos explained as they hurried through the town. “When I went to the Bastille, they arrested me. Luckily, Henri here was the commander. When he found out what had happened, he had me released.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell your men that the king was wrong about us when he issued the order?” Greg asked Henri.

  “I had no idea you were alive!” Henri replied. “Or at the very least, I thought you were on the other side of France. There didn’t seem to be much point in telling my men to disobey a direct order from the king in those circumstances. When my men told me they had taken a Musketeer prisoner, I thought they were crazy.”

  “The moment Henri had me released, we came to find you,” Athos said. “I knew that if the king’s guard was aligned against us, you’d walked right into the lion’s den. Though it looks like you got out okay.”

  “It wasn’t easy,” Greg said. “The king’s guard is the least of our problems. Milady is back. She’s the one who turned the king against us. I’m not sure, but she might have hypnotized him somehow. With this.” He held up the amulet.

  “The stone!” Athos crowed. “You got it back!”

  “That wasn’t so easy, either,” Greg told him.

  “So, if she doesn’t have the stone, does that mean she doesn’t have power over the king anymore?” Athos asked.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Greg admitted. “As you know, Milady can be awfully persuasive on her own. . . .” He caught himself before he went any further, thinking he might have upset Athos.

  Athos just laughed, however, as if everything Milady had done to him was forgotten. “Yes. That girl’s mind is as dangerous as any sword.”

  “The good news is, Milady has been captured. Catherine and my parents have her tied up in a secret room at the top of the palace.” Greg decided not to share the part about the deal Milady had offered him. It would only complicate things. “We also captured Condé and three of his men.”

  Athos and Henri reacted with astonishment. “Inside the palace?” Henri asked.

  “They snuck into the city through one of the secret passages,” Greg explained.

  “Well, no more of Condé’s men will be able to do that,” Henri replied. “I have sent my men to seal all the passages off.”

  Greg shook his head. “It’s too late. Condé already has men in the city. They’re going to attack the city gates from the inside tonight. Once they take them, they’ll open them up for the army to come through.”

  Athos and Henri exchanged a worried look. “Do you have any idea which gates they plan to attack?” Athos asked.

  Greg shook his head. “No. Sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about. The information you did get may save this city.”
Henri turned to his men. “We need to get word to each of the city gates to be prepared for an attack from the inside this very night.” He pointed to each of his men in turn, naming a gate. They saluted and ran off without a moment’s hesitation. However, there were only thirteen guardsmen—and fourteen gates. “I shall return to the Bastille myself,” Henri told Athos. “I could use a warrior such as you, should this battle happen.”

  “My leg isn’t completely healed, but I’ll do what I can,” Athos said. “But first, I need to make sure Greg gets to safety.”

  “Wait!” Greg said before Henri could go. “What about Condé and Milady? We can’t leave them tied up in the attic forever.”

  “Why not?” Henri asked with a smirk. “They can starve to death for all I care.”

  “I think there’s a better chance of them escaping long before that happens,” Greg warned. “All it takes is for one of them to get out of their bonds. Then they free the others, and suddenly we have assassins loose in the palace again, hunting the king.”

  “Good point,” Athos said. “If anyone could be expected to worm out of a situation like this, it’s Milady. How long ago did you leave her?”

  “Fifteen minutes,” Greg said. “Maybe a bit more.”

  “And where is this attic?” Henri asked.

  “It’s a secret room up in one of the highest points in the palace,” Greg told them. “To be honest, I don’t know if I could find my way there again. But Catherine could tell you how to get there.”

  “And where is Catherine?” Athos asked.

  “Hopefully, she’s back at Notre Dame by now,” Greg said. “Along with my parents.”

  Henri turned to Athos. “Take D’Artagnan to Notre Dame and find out where Condé is. I’ll send a team of men back there to escort you to the palace.”

  “I can handle this myself,” Athos said. “You need every man you have guarding the gates.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Athos,” Henri said. “Never reject help when it’s offered to you. Besides, you know your chess, right? The best way to defeat an army is to take its king. Good luck to you this night!” With that, he raced off toward the Bastille.